

* « 



» 




LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 

Chap. Copyriglit No. 



UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 



Digitized by the Internet Archive 
in 2011 with funding from 
The Library of Congress 



http://www.archive.org/details/perenniaOOhans 



PERENNIA 



PERENNIA 



^^ 



ALICE E. HANSCOM 



^ f|? 



The Helman-Taylor Company 

Cleveland, Ohio 

mdcccxcviii 






2n 



v»;, 



1098, 



' *--M.4: 






Copyright 1898 

The Helman-Taylor Company 

Cleveland, Ohio 




TWO COPIES RECEIVED. 



Ctrnt^nts 

January 

In January _ _ _ _ _ i 

February 

Under the Amethyst - - - 2 

Valentines - _ _ _ ^-7 

Late February - _ _ _ 8 

The Herald _ - _ _ g 

March 

A Spring Processional - - 10-12 

April 

April -- - - --i^ 

Easter - ~ - - 14-15 



May 



June 



July 



Spring Rain - - _ 


i6 


In May-Time 


- 17 


Flower Day „ _ _ 


- 18-19 


Victory - _ _ _ 


20 


Defeat - - _ - 


21 


Her Birthday _ > - 


22 


le 

Hymn - _ _ - 


23 


June - - - - 


- - 24 


Rose -Charm ~ - - 


25 


Midsummer Day 


- - 26 


With a Pillow of Rose-Leaves 


27 


Wars of the Roses 


28-29 


Midsummer Day Dreaming 


30-31 


Y 

July - - - - 


32-33 


Color-Change - - - 


- 34-35 


In the Cloud and in the Sea 


36-37 


igust 

The Shadow-Leaf 


- 38 


To E. M. T. - - 


- - 39 



August 



The Lover's Cloud of Witnesses - 


40-41 


Forget-Me-Not _ - - 


- 42 


August Noon - - - - 


43 


September 




September Songs - - - 


44-45 


Diminuendo - - - _ 


46-47 


On the Church Steps - - - 


48-49 


October Snow _ _ « 


50-51 


November 




The Lights of the City 


- 52 


Monotones I 'In the Far Country' 


53 


" II 'Rain' 


54-55 


Blind ----- 


- 56 


Satisfied - - - - _ 


57 


December 




The Nativity _ , - - 


58-59 


A Miracle ----- 


60-61 



PERENNIA 



Time, circling, slips from Old to New, 
— Ever does Thought respond, pursue, 
Follow the fleeting of the year. 
With each fresh season re-appear. 
And breathe in broken echo-sound 
Vibrations from the noiseless round. 



lEnuarg 



In January. 

Does the bud of the flower that is to be 

Now sweetly stir in its sleep, 
And the brown earth thrill to a prophecy 

Of bloom under snow-drifts deep ? 

Is the elm-branch, etched against the sky. 

Half-conscious of that day 
When joy shall spring in each passer-by 

For the grace of its leafy spray ? 

Perchance the nymph of the summer ponds 

Has heard the skaters' glee. 
And murmured within her icy bonds, 

"The sun-god summoneth me !" 

Does Robin under a southern sky 

Feel the homeward flight in his wings, 

Is he swelling his throat of the ruby dye 
With his chorus practicings ? 

A sunnier space parts dawn from eve. 
All paths to the springward slope, 

Not now may the spirit remember and grieve, 
The gift of the season is — Hope. 



F:eb:rxtarg 



Under the Amethyst* 

An earlier light shines in a brighter east 

And lingers westward in clear rose and gold, 

Wild winds may sweep from out the realms of cold, 

But night's eclipse has once again decreased. 

Not yet the white-winged flight has ceased 

Of frolic snow-sprites, tiny mimics bold 

Of happy birds, whose songs seem new though old, 

The poet-guests at Summer's wide-spread feast, 

But by poetic faith of elder day 

Is February crowned with Amethyst 

Which gem bestows the gift, desired alway. 

Of peace on mind and heart. Let us desist 

From discontent, though snow with sun doth play, 

And winds unhappy wander as they list. 



F^ebruarg 



Valentines* 
I. 

P*or the years that are gone 
And the gifts that stay 

Your lover counts the beads 
On this Saint's Day. 

For the year that is 

With hopes in rich array 

Your lover's heart is glad 
On this Saint's Day. 

For the love that is to be 

When years have passed away 

Your lover giveth thanks 
On this Saint's Day. 



Fchrwarg 



II. 

You will not know whose daring lends 
Itself to fancies of the day, 

And herewith unsigned greeting sends 
From distance near though far away. 

To me is not vouchsafed the prize 
Your friendship's royal gift to own ; 

I pass, a stranger in your eyes. 

My name and face alike unknown. 

And yet I know your spirit fine 
How bright the aureole it wears ; 

Your tones and looks are oil and wine 
To hearts sore-bruised by cruel cares. 



—4— 



FjehrwErg 



I know you walk the ways of life 

To music from a holier sphere 
Whose harmony, with blessing rife, 

Brings joy to all whom you hold dear. 

Your friends are many. I, apart, 

Have throned and crowned you queen and 
saint ; 
Supreme, your presence In my heart 

Bids loneliness cease its complaint. 

Perhaps your smile will shine to-day 
Above these quiet words of mine, 

The tribute which they do not say 
Lies liquid in each conscious line. 



—5— 



F]ehrxxErg 



III. 

The folded flower now dreams of June 

And sighs, asleep, " The time is long." 
The bird now finds his heart in tune 

And longs to fill all space with song. 
Thy lover's fate is happier still 

Than that of bird or dreaming flower, 
For in his thought of thee at will 

He has a golden hour. 

The bud will sun its wings of bloom 

Then droop to dimness and decay ; 
The song to silence will give room 

Dying in plaintive note away. 
But in the tides that sweep towards thee 

Do tenderness and strength combine, 
They know no ebb in constancy, — 

This from thy Valentine. 



-6- 



FjehrwHrg 



IV. 

For a Rowfanter — 

Who Hath Greatly Honored the Good Saint. 

From his high place in the Celestial Rose 
Where victors of the Faith resplendent shine, 
Bends forward, wondering, Saint Valentine 
To gaze where Earth, a small star-jewel, glows, 
Scene of his happily-forgotten mortal woes : 
"Whence this new music, voiced above my shrine 
Breathing of incense spirit-sweet and fine. 
Which in ethereal melody to me up-flows ? 
But why need ask ? My Rowfant votary 
Sole maker of this gladness is, I deem. 
What heart's-delight for him shall token be 
Of a Saint's friendship in this Court Supreme ? 
— To him shall be this rare felicity, — 
Book-lover's joy beyond his dearest dream !" 



-7— 



F:ehruErg 



Late February^ 

Light snow-dust to the far field-line 

Like star-enamel spread, 
Vapor-of-pearl in the air a-shine, 

Sun-brightness overhead. 

A look of life yet in the dream 
The songless woodland shows, 

A ruddy tint, Spring's first foregleam, 
Under brown sheathing glows. 

The young wheat veils its green the while 

A fairy frost below, 
Already summer harvests smile 

Through silver-shining snow. 



WtXnxth 



The Herald* 

" We note the arrival of Robin Redbreast. ' ^— Local News. 

Though earth be swept by wild snow showers 

And winds breathe threatenings drear, 
The surest pledge of spring is ours — 
Robin is here ! 

Though March may urge his boisterous sway 

We listen without fear 
And, smiling, to each other say — 
"Robin is here !" 

His presence means a world made new 

In days now closely near. 
He's ever been a herald true, — 
Robin is here I 

We know that joy will come this way, 

Familiar, but most dear — 
For him the nest, for us the May — 
Robin is here ! 



march 



m 



A Spring ProcessionaL 
I. 

Despite the springwinds' bluster 

And pretence of wintry power. 
Flower-forces are a-muster 
For their Coronation-hour. 
' How do I know ?' 
The pussy-willow tells me so ! 

II. 

A short, soft struggle in the dark 
'Twixt courage and shy doubt, 

Then everybody makes remark, 
" The crocuses are out !" 



— 10— 



ItlErth 



III. 

Little Hepatica 

In the dim wood 
Waits for the storms to pass 

'Neath her gray hood ; 
Veils face and heart 

Awaiting the sun, 
Offers pure pearl tints 

Then, one by one- 
Storms could not win 

What sun-glances could. 
Heart of Hepatica 

In the dim wood. 



IHarth 



IV. 

At low brown doors the spring rain knocks 

And sunbeams warmly woo, 
The flower-folk undo the locks 

And in a troop come through. 

Some scamper softly through the wood, 
Some hide in last year's leaves. 

But each in dainty gown and hood 
A cloth-of-beauty weaves. 



-12— 



<^prtl 



April. 

The growing year has reached its April age, 

And plays Undine's part without her soul, 
Its mischief moods beyond the sage control 

Of any wisdom left as heritage 
From elder Aprils ; sun and cloud engage 

To shine or frown, as suits their changeful role 
And cupid breezes, feigning deepest dole. 

Or, dimpling with delight, act each as page. 
The trustful leaves slip from their sheathings deep, 

Believing that their dreaming-time is done, 
But April coaxing cannot wake the sleep 

Of folded buds, — a princess in each one — 
Where roses do their honey-secret keep 

Till comes their fairy-prince, the summer sun. 



—13— 



^prtl 



Easter* 
I. 

The llly-bulb was burled in the mold, 
— Behold the risen lily's pearl and gold 

II. 

Does faith show richer flowering 
Than in the vanished year. 

And does the inner witness sing 
In triumph-tones more clear ? 

Should not the heavenly vision seem 
More real, more dear, each time 

Earth wakens from the wintry dream, 
And Easter joy-bells chime ? 



—14— 



^prtl 



HI. 

With lilies would I you this morning greet. 

Their honeyed breath should softly change the 

space 
Around you into sanctuary place 
For thoughts with veiled face and reverent feet. 
Thus would I have your Easter morning sweet 
With lily-lesson on the heirship of our race 
To hope eternal, gift of that great grace 
Which for our sakes endured and is henceforth 
complete. 
But out of distance far, instead, my friend, 
I share with you the heavenly triumphing. 
More sweet than lily-bells the words here blend 
And are caught up by seraphim who sing, 

" He loved His own, He loves them to the 

end. 
O'er death and time is Love immortal King." 



—15— 



Spring Rain* 

The sky sends down on silver lines 

A pearl-and-opal dew, 
Each drop an open secret shines, 

Each holds a rainbow hue. 

Young plant-life as these jewels pass 

Its cup with color fills. 
Glory of emerald for the grass. 

Gold for the daffodils. 

The trees spring sweetness deeply drink 

And joyful-hearted grow. 
The peach becomes a cloud of pink. 

The apple scatters fragrant snow. 

Spring rain may come a silken mist 
To blur with gray the scene, 

It fades from sight in amethyst. 
Or film of crystal sheen. 



— 16— 



mn^ 



In May-Time. 

The youthful year of sweeter spirit grows, 
And greets us with an incense offering 
Fine as the gift an Eastern prince might bring. 

A two-fold kindly thought the soft air shows 

In flower-leaf clouds of white and pinkish snows : 
— A gracious pity of the discrowned king 
Whose sway dissolved before the smile of spring, 
— A graceful tribute to the coming rose 

Whose queenship all the lands of summer own. 
The outer world becomes a warm green tent. 
And our chill North turns to a beauty-zone 

Where festival is kept by glad consent. 
And life grows rich in color, fragrance, tone, — 
Those fairest fancies Nature could invent. 



—17— 



IHEg 



Flower-Day* 

Clouds come and go, stars do not pass, 

Great truths are true through all the years, 
And one of such we read through tears 

In these low billows in the grass. 

Here Nature keeps the memory green 

Of loyal faith more strong than death 
And whispers in aeolian breath 

Her song of praise through shade and sheen. 

To-day the billows break in bloom 

As we with slow and reverent tread 
Approach the still homes of the dead 

To crown with flowers the soldier's tomb. 

Think of the father, son and friend 
Who might be here to-day in life 
Had they not hurried to the strife 

Our peace, our safety to defend. 



-i8— 



iriag 



Remember those who died alone 

With uncomplaining fortitude, 

'Twas for our sakes they thus withstood, 

And sleep afar in graves unknown. 

Think how the world to-day has need 

Of that high spirit not afraid 

To show, though fine, how strong 'tis made^ 
And prove its truth by valiant deed. 

And they are absent. We remain 

To do the great work of the age. 
To set the seal on History's page 

That they for us died not in vain. 

Honored the more from May to May, 
No time in all the circling year 
Should be to faithful hearts more dear 

Than Memory's sacred Flower-Day. 



—19— 



IfttEg 



Victory. 

*'Manibus data lilia plenis.*^ 

As fire leaps upward towards the heavenly lights, 
In unavailing hope to reach the dome 
Where stars serene shine steadfastly, at home 
Above earth's sheltered vales and breeze-blown 

heights ; 
As waves thrill with a longing that incites 

A ceaseless beating of their strength to foam, 
That they may reach the shore and cease to 
roam ; 
As trees bend from the tempest that affrights. 
Fixed in their leaning towards the point of calm ; 
So thought is drawn by loyalty and love 
In upward gaze on triumph crowned with palm, 
On hero-souls star-high our ways above, 
Who followed Honor over fields of flame. 
Who crossed with Death and, smiling, overcame. 



-20 — 



Ittag 



Defeat. 

He that fallen may rise to his feet 

If Truth but standeth by, 
He knoweth the only real defeat 

Who maketh or loveth a lie. 

The gold of life shall be saved from loss 
Though fires may test and try, 

To that nature remaineth pitiful dross 
Which maketh or loveth a lie. 

Heaven lends itself to the cause that is just 
And fixed are the stars in its sky. 

His shining success is ashes and dust 
Who maketh or loveth a lie. 

On that outer verge where hope grows dim 

Shall falseness utterly die, 
— No place in heaven or earth for him 

Who maketh or loveth a lie. 



fHag 



Her Birthday* 

All white and gold is her life-book 

Made up of years so fair, 
White for her lily-thought and look, 

Gold for her shining hair, 
And for the brightness in each nook 

If she has but been there. 

So may her year begun to-day 

Until its May-time close 
Be golden in its gift-array. 

And sweet as the white rose 
Whose generous heart breathes grace away 

On every wind that blows. 



— 22 — 



gnnt 



Hymn^ 

Rejoice before the Lord, my soul, rejoice ! 
Within His courts lift up thy thankful voice ! 
His righteousness stands like the mountains, sure, 
Like the great deep His judgments shall endure. 

Thy mercy, O our Lord, doth reach the skies, 
Unto Thy faithfulness we raise our eyes ; 
Continue loving kindness to impart 
Unto the grateful and the true of heart. 

So shall they be with plenty satisfied 
And drink Thy pleasures as a brimming tide ; 
In Thee life has its fountain-sources bright, 
And in Thy light, O Lord, shall we see light. 

From the Psalter for the Seventh Day. 

June, 1893. 



-23— 



§nnt 



Fond Mother-Nature's sweet device 
Her dearest secret half discloses :- 

She still remembers Paradise 
And tells us through the roses. 



—24— 



inttB 



Rose-Chann^ 

Who can translate this wonder-thought 

Of sway so sweet, so strong ? 
Can melody be color-wrought 

Or perfume breathe of song ? 
Is music so with fragrance fraught 

Its sweetness overflows 
To quicken visions spirit-sought, 

And haunt us through the rose ? 



—25— 



§xint 



Midsummer Day. 

The year has come to coronation-time ! 
With what a splendor does this day of days wheel 
its circling hours, from the silvery space of long 
twilight preluding early dawn to the slow fading 
of the lingering sunset's transparent flame, from 
high noon's fiery luster to midnight's pearl-like 
translucence ! To him who keeps reverent watch 
at this Vigil is revelation given. Before the poet's 
fancy Titania and Oberon with all their fairy train 
shall rise to flit by blossoming bank and leafy lane 
into the soft darkness of enchanted groves. But 
better still, upon the spirit-sight shall be laid a 
touch bestowing interpretation of the heavenly 
saying, " And there shall be no night there." Out 
of the luminous, dewy peace of the earth-night, 
dim enough for rest, but softly lighted from an un- 
seen dayspring, shall rise the vision of the celestial 
night, not darkness, but transfiguration. 



—26- 



§nnz 



With a Pillow of Rose-Leaves^ 

A shower of rose-leaves falling on the grass 

To dark oblivion do quickly pass. 

These, softly shaken out of dreams and dew 

While yet the June-time of the year was new. 

Have happier fortune for their fate 

Since on your gracious presence they may wait. 

Finding therein a second summer sweet 

Whose gladness goes not with the season fleet. 



—27— 



^nnt 



Wars of the Roses. 

The Red Rose like a trumpet calls 

To praise and high renown ; 
The Queen of Hearts from castle-walls 

On combat looking down 
Would wish for this imperial flower 

To grace her victor-knight, 
So worthily of princely power 

It speaks in color bright. 
With thought of court and royal name, 
Of chivalry and splendid fame. 

It fitly goes, 

The red, red rose ! 



-28- 



§xint 



The White Rose seemeth like a star 

Fallen on earth's low ground. 
Its leaves celestial tokens are, 

No earth-stain there is found. 
It shelters in a spotless heart 

A store of incense-leaven, 
That plays unseen an angel's part 

To make us dream of heaven. 
With thoughts of peace perpetual, pure, 
Of holy hours w^hose vows endure. 

It sweetly goes. 

The white, white rose ! 



— 29 — 



§xmt 



Midsummer Day-dreaming. 

A gently-sloping hillsidej a tall wide-spreading 
tree drooping its lower branches to play with high 
grass, as yet unacquainted with lawn-mowers ; 
within the tent thus lightly pitched a hammock 
swaying peacefully, its occupant finding his chosen 
volume of summer reading, though warranted 
light, growing heavy to the hand ; the sunlight 
filtered of dazzle and glitter making soft illumina- 
tion in the hollow space ; everywhere the color of 
green, — along the hillside, in the hedges, on the 
rows of grape-vines, — unless it be for some neg- 
lected rosebushes that carelessly scatter a shower 
of crimson leaves across the grass ; everywhere 
the blessing of stillness, save for sleepy-sounding 
chirpings from bird-throats and the light lisp of a 
lazy breeze pretending to be going somewhere; 



-30— 



ixtnt 



the far-off sound of wheels rolling farther away 
along a country road, and then — and then — all 
sounds blend to a lullaby and the dreamer floats 
off to the Land of the Heart's Desire. 

Is it worth while to disturb this sweet repose 
with remarks about the black ants whose presence 
speaks approval of the same green tent, of the 
pleasing variety of unnamed insects that drop from 
the branches to taste of the dreamer when his 
dream is at the sweetest, of the songful mosquito 
that hovers airily, but faithfully, above the ham- 
mock ? No, none of these things belong to 
dreaming, only to reality. 



—31— 



iMlg 



July. 

No lily-light of midnight star or moon 

Is this deep splendor-tide whose brilliant play 
Floods all the spaces of the wide blue day, 

'Tis golden summer's sumptuous hour of noon! 

True, shadows will grow longer all too soon, 
But listen now the sound of far-off streams, 
And breathe the air's soft poppy-gift of dreams. 
While in the meadow grass contented insects 
croon. 



—32- 



Sttig 



Where'er the humblest footsteps, aimless, stray, 
A field-of-cloth-of-gold is freely spread. 
For once Time hastens not, but seems, instead. 

Well pleased, to loiter, dreaming, by the way. 

Though this illumination may not stay 

To light the onward passing of the year. 
We will remember when the days grow drear, 

July fulfilled the promises of May. 



—33— 



Ixxlg 



Color-Change. 

Flower-bloom in ether, deepening as it glows 
From pink of palest petal to richest heart of rose. 
The color-gift of morning, but who among us 

knows 
The secret of its blending, the fountain whence 

it flows? 

Sapphire-shine above us, our dowry in the sky, 
Whene'er we have the vision for splendor passing 

by. 
Exhaustless wells of azure, made free to every eye, 
But who hath seen the color-spring where their 

primal sources lie? 

Radiance of ruby flaming in the west. 
Red-gold and amber, wine-hues that attest 
Degree and rank imperial to a parting guest, 
Do such torch-lights kindle at a king's behest? 



—34- 



Brilliance born of whiteness that puts the snow 
to shame, 

Crystal-clear, yet vivid, a hue without a name ; 

Who among magicians the charm supreme dare 
claim 

To breathe through stainless lily-light the pearl- 
soul of pure flame? 

Paleness as of waning moon, filling to the brim 
Earth's uplifted cup of space with a grayness dim. 
Soothing sense and spirit like a holy hymn 
Before the new dawn flushes the far horizon-rim. 

Thus the color-changes run through a perfect day. 
Ceaseless witchery of light, a shifting jewel-play. 
Shall we find this treasure ours, spared from time's 

decay 
When the former earth and heaven have vanished 

all away? 



-35- 



Iwl2 



**In the Cloud and in the Sea/^ 

The cloud with grayness folds me in 
And shuts the world away, 

The great deep lifts its surging din 
In shifting lines of gray. 

Its waves their hurrying forces form, 
Somber, but strong of will. 

On what far shore felt they the storm 
Sternly remembered still? 

Closer they press about my feet, 
Hushing, as they come near. 

Their proud song of the sunken fleet, 
The lonely heart's death-fear, 



-36- 



To bring as from another clime 
A message, instant, clear, 

Whose meaning at this only time 
The listening soul can hear. 

Graywalled against the summer's glee, 
From all the world apart, 

I hear a voice from cloud and sea 
A solemn charge impart. 

Whose truth may not be disallowed, 

Inland will go with me 
The sacred shadow of the cloud, 

The secret from the sea. 

Plum Island, 1897. 



-37- 



^gust 



The Shadow-Leaf* 



What other token of the summer is so ethereal 
as the shadow-leaf dancing on the grass? It is, or 
is not, at the concurring caprice of breeze and of 
sunbeam. The green leaves securely held on the 
sheltering arm of the tree spread light wings sky- 
ward, or toss off the saucy zephyr-touch, all unaware 
of the soft counterfeiting going on below. 

This troop of tiny mimics might be likened 
to a swarm of butterflies, of darker race than our 
darlings of the summer, flitting about in a field of 
light, or to downy wings shielding the sweet grass 
from the lances of the sun, — to elfin weavers 
flecking with relief-tints a brocade of gold and 
green, — a dusky will-of-the-wisp dance madly 
circling the round of a favorite haunt. 

A stately argosy comes sweeping by in shining 
vision upon the blue sea overhead, whitely eclipsing 
the golden sun. The little phantoms swiftly dis- 
appear, swallowed up in the greater shadow fallen 
from the sky. Like the tale that is told and for- 
gotten in the telling is the little life of summer^s 
shadow-leaf. 

-38- 



^wgttst 



To E. M. T. 

What need to bring our wishing-words 

To her whom all the happy birds 

Of Arcady in carol-song 

Salute as sister to their throng? 

To her upon whose life looks down 

The City of the Violet Crown ; 

Who in this modern life yet hears, 

— Its music mellowed through the years, — 

The hum of old Hymettus' bees ; 

For whom the Dryads in our trees 

Shake singing-leaves on every breeze ; 

Who knows each day the flavor fine 

Of Hybla's honey and of wine 

More potent for the tuneful line 

Than growth of old Falernian vine ; 

Who owns the signet-jewel clear 

To weave of common days a Poet's Year? 



-39- 



^tgust 



The Lover^s Cloud of Witnesses. 

The poet has but read your thought 

To tell it o'er to me, 
Its unvoiced meaning music caught 

For themes in melody. 

Whene'er the breeze seems perfume-play 

Then does it testify 
That it was soul-touched on the way 

By passing you close by. 

The elm-tree whose lithe line betrays 

Its Dryad's hiding-place 
But copies your elusive ways, 

Their pliant, stately grace. 



—40— 



^ugwst 



White clouds and sunshine in the skies 

Exchanging grace for grace, 
So have I seen in your deep eyes 

Looks grave to gay give place. 

The mellow music of the bee 

Between his honey-sips 
Suggest in daring dream to me 

Flower-sweetness— on your lips. 

The sky's soft curve doth earthward bring 

Token and proof to me, 
How sacred and how sweet a thing 

Your tenderness would be. 



-41- 



^ugwst 



Forget-Me-Not. 



'Twas finished — the fair flower-world — 

And fringed with pearls of dew 
Was every glossy leaf, close-curled, 

Each bud of fairy hue. 
And God in wise and tender speech 

Had called from fragrant sleep 
And given His choice of name to each 

With charge that name to keep. 

All smiled, well-pleased. But soon there came 

One colored like the sky, 
Whose tiny voice confessed with shame 

In faltering accents shy, 
" Forgive, dear Lord ! Deep is my blame, 

But I've my name forgot I" 
— "Dost thou soon forget thy name ? 

Nay, then, forget Me not !" 

Abashed, but glad, the little flower 

To a green bank withdrew 
Where yet she smiles in beauty-dower 

The golden summer through. 
She bids the eye and heart rejoice 

That seek her quiet spot. 
And echoes still the Tender Voice 

That said " Forget Me not." 

—42— 



^gust 



August Noon» 

Now siience and heat have rule o'er the world. 
Thin banners of dust are straightway unfurled 
If a step but invade the truce of the road 
Enjoying its rest from the wheel and the load. 
So potent the sense of repose everywhere 
That intrusion it seems to be out in the air. 
Hill, woodland and bridge show, mutely, surprise 
At the loitering foot on their pathway that lies 
Between farms and the village, asleep in the sun 
As if for the season its work were all done. 
I cross its white streets, unmet and unseen. 
And reach the straight walks all bordered in green 
Where silence more deep and the hush of a rest 
Unhaunted of dreams, the dwellings attest. 
No loneliness felt under midnight's dim moon 
Could more touch the soul than this of high noon. 
Whence started this wind, low-voiced in its sigh 
As if tired of heart-ache and hopings put by, 
Blowing straight from the past, unresting and fleet 
To stir the dry grass on this grave at my feet ? 
And when will it rest from its old monotone. 
Its murmur persistent, "Alone, all alone " — 



"43— 



Styittmhtx 



September Songs* 
I. 

With purple all the highways shine 

To honor passers-by, 
And spires of yellow drawn in line 

Show princely courtesy. 

Soon will these tapers in the trees 
Triumphal torches blaze, 

And bronze and ruby at each breeze 
Sprinkle the country ways. 

The heart should votive tapers burn 

For wine and oil untold, 
Yearly it may the truth discern 

That beauty grows not old. 



-44- 



S:ept]mthBr 



II. 



Through city street and country glade 

High tides of radiance run, 
The air seems sapphire in the shade 

And red-gold in the sun. 
Are jewel-colors magic-made 

Or are they rainbow spun ? 

With royal hues the roadside glows, 

With russet the fields afar. 
With a sleepy song the river flows 

Over its low-water bar. 
And the floating down of the thistle shows 

One of earth's dreams of a star. 

A chorus band of breezes fleet 

Rustle the leaves of corn. 
Or weight their wings with honey-sweet 

Of purple grape-bloom born. 
Or moan aeolian measures meet 

For months of hope forlorn. 



—45- 



©tt^tor 



Diminuendo* 
I. 

Leaves flutter downward one by one, 
Sweet Summer's " P. P. C." 

She's going southward with the sun, 
His lady-love is she. 

The birds without her will not stay. 
Their flight they now prepare. 

What shall we do while they're away 
For gladness in the air ? 

II. 

A radiance as of silver mist 
Transfigures grass and tree, 

A jewel-rain, when sunbeam-kissed. 
— " The first white frost," say we. 



-46- 



&dn\xtx 



III. 

Now, little people, all run in, 

'Tis time to close the door. 
Your slumber-song should now begin, 

Twilight has come once more. 

Lay down each pretty silken head 

Upon the mother-breast. 
Don't think of what Jack Frost has said. 

He cannot harm your rest. 

Now shut the tired, sleepy eyes, 

Beneath the covers creep. 
Then will you give us glad surprise 
After your beauty-sleep. 

The fires burn low, the night grows chill. 
Its dark hours may bring storm. 

But mother-love will shield from ill 
And keep her darlings warm. 



-47— 



©jct^tor 



On the Church Steps. 

Under the Gothic arch of stone 
Girl-figures grouped together, 

Hither for refuge swiftly flown 
In the rainy autumn weather. 

Unmindful that 'tis sacred place, 
They laugh, complain and chatter. 

And scan the clouds with flower-fair face 
The while the raindrops patter. 

Restless they move their space about, 
Gay flecks of color showing. 

As flower-stalks sway in and out 
In summer gardens growing. 



~48— 



©jct0tor 



Perchance beneath this very arch 
At no far distant dating, 

The first notes of a wedding march 
They'll be demurely waiting. 

Anon the car rolls down the street, 
And though it yet is raining. 

Thither they dart on flying feet. 
Still laughing and complaining. 

The clouds now hasten to pass by 
And show a smile in going, 

A golden blessing from the sky 
On the church door bestowing. 



—49- 



©ttflhoer 



October Snow. 

Morning descends in floating gray 
To find her pathways near and far 

With petals strewn since yesterday 
Shaped Hke the tokens of a star. 

First flowering of the winter's spring 
Whose drifting bloom ere long shall fly 

Across our world on airy wing 

To join the fields of earth and sky. 

The splendid banners late displayed 
By forces of the hill and plain 

Their color-pride aside have laid, 
Saluting thus their victor's reign. 



—50— 



©tJ^tox: 



The little river rippling by 

No longer dimples to the breeze, 

Upon its joyless surface lie 

Dim etchings of the drooping trees. 

Undaunted, still the meadow grass 
Is faithful to its summer hue. 

As blithe at heart while storm-clouds pass 
As when the fading year was new. 

In clouded space the groves behold 

Illumination die to gloom. 
They know full well these star-flecks cold 

Are heralds of a nearing doom. 



-51— 



^nntmbzic 



The Lights of the City. 

Outlined on space between the sky and earth 
In glittering figure like unto a crown, 

True stars are they though of a mortal birth. 
Flashed into being as the night comes down. 

The brighter for the deepening of the dark. 
Faithful, they shine into the noon of night. 

And eyes that cannot sleep for sorrow mark 
Above the city hush their steadfast light. 

In that dim hour between the dusk and dawn 
Like lonely sentinels on guard they stand, 

Lest, trooping back, the shades almost withdrawn 
Should charge upon the gates of morning-land. 

But when the Day has come unto his own 
In shining raiment without stain or blot. 

We seek the stately sentry of his throne 
Their lofty place is starless, they are not. 



—52-- 



^nvu^mixtx 



Monotones* 
I. 

" In the Far Country." 

Though not remote by space or street, 

An exile's ban I bear ; 
Our eyes in passing sometimes meet, 

You know not I am there. 

My thoughts find ceaseless, sweet employ 

In bonds to you, yet free, 
Even your grief would bring me joy 

If then you turned to me. 

But alien to your sigh or song 

And stranger to your sight, 
I am but one amid the throng 

Outside your day and night. 

And shall I find, denied in this. 
Some other world more glad ? 

Can Heaven be Heaven if there I miss 
The friend I never had ? 



—53- 



i^nvirnihtx 



II. 

Rain. 

The years grow sadder and fuller of tears. 

Less lavish of song and shine. 
Whither have vanished the beautiful years 

I used to dream should be mine ? 
I never fancied the time would be 

When I should sit from the world apart, 
Feeling that life held nothing for me 

But a tired brain and a heavy heart, 
And to hear without on roof and pane 
The hopeless sound of November rain. 

Earth*s harvest-fields lie brown and sere 

Awaiting their winter rest, 
To them this gray night is not drear, 

For them this rain is best. 
I who had hoped to reap in joy 



-54— 



^xtnmthtx 



From fertile plain and sunny slope, 
Have seen a slow, sure blight destroy 

The fairy bloom of springing hope, 
And to me 'tis a knell for dreams that were vain, 
This mournful plash of November rain. 

But the end comes not with learning the truth 

That life's finest gold must blend with alloy. 
Endurance replaces the dreamings of youth. 

And patience remains where once there was joy. 
Life still must go on though no longer akin 

To the blush of the rose and the song of the lark, 
As homes must be lighted and warm within 

Though their dearest ones sleep in the outer dark. 
Many the sorrows on earth's broad plain 
That revive at the sound of November rain. 



—55— 



ifltxntmhj^y: 



Blind. 

A marble statue, without stain or flaw 
Upon its whiteness or its noble grace, 
Serves well the world, set in a public place. 
By testimony to the worth of Beauty's law. 

What if some gazer, of dull thought and low 
Finds therein only mark for missile-blight ? 
Just by its whiteness and its lofty height 
The stately figure drew the coward blow. 

Should we not pity, rather than despise 
The one who, having eyes, still fails to see ? 
From malice-mark the marble soon is free. 
And by uplifted thought it blesses worthy eyes. 



-56- 



J^ja)3::emter 



Satisfied* 
Ps. XVII., 15. 

Not here, where bitter tears are wept in vain 
For sorrow o'er the victor-foe within, 
That oft-repented and repeated sin ; 
Where perfect peace blooms only out of pain 
And then falls under blight of doubt again ; 
Where dreams forbidden daily re-begin 
From haunting memories of what has been. 
Like last year's weeds fresh growing in spring rain. 
But there, beyond these dreams within a dream. 
Where faith and hope and love at home abide. 
Where the Celestial City-walls will gleam. 
And, — dearer promise than all else beside, — 
The look divine through human spirits beam, 
— Yes, then and there we may be satisfied ! 



—57— 



^ttmihtx 



The Nativity* 

Unto every year belong 
The holy star, the angel song. 

Every heart may yearly hear 
Evangel-message, sweet and clear 

As w^hen upon a watch by night 
A glory shone for earth too bright. 
So long as good must strive with ill 

To gain dominion of the heart. 
Which to the higher vision would be true, 

But weakly chooses the ignoble part 
By yielding to a traitorous will. 

And falters, falls, — in shame aspiring still 
The bitter upward struggle to renew ; — 

Until the flesh is subject to the soul 
And we in free and happy choice commit them. 

Body and spirit both, to the divine control, 
Need have we, to attain that shining goal. 

Yearly to go to Bethlehem. 



-58- 



^i^tmihu 



So long as pride wills not to learn 

The lesson of the little child, — 
So long as fires unholy burn 

On secret altars thought-defiled, — 
So long as hearts repressed in lonely silence grieve, 

Yet trust amid their grief, — 
So long as faith just failing to achieve 

Trembles toward unbelief, — 
So long as human nature fails to claim 

Its heritage in the divine. 
To rise responsive to its nobler name. 

Its true ancestral line. 
Yearly our patient Father will renew 

Assurance from on high, 
(In this dear feast brought nigh). 

Of His supreme and final plan. 
Which even the angels may not scan. 

The dream impossible in love grown true. 
Our common clay made kindred with the sky. 

The Son of God with us as Son of man ! 



—59— 



^zttmbtx 



A Miracle^ 

A brooding darkness lies upon the land, though 
the dial-plate announces that the morning hour is 
near. The whiteness of a light snow-fall dimly re- 
lieves the gloom of hollow space, showing here and 
there as a blur upon the white expanse a farm- 
house roof or a stretch of bare woodland. 

There is no breeze abroad, yet the air thrills 
with consciousness of expectation ; thought throbs 
with wish to share the mystery evidently in process 
of revelation to the hearing ear. 

There is no other hint of life than this un- 
spoken language of the air. No one is passing 
along the country road, the street of the little vil- 
lage is dumb. Even the trees are silent, their few 
sere leaves for the time unmurmuring of the sum- 
mer, uncomplaining of the wintry chill. The lake 



^ztzmhzt 



lies quiet, its pulses beating so low that the powder- 
drift of ice-sparkles is unstirred along the shore. 

Suddenly, by an unrealized brightening, dis- 
tant outlines come nearer. With the primeval 
fire-worshipper's instinct, the eye seeks the spaces 
of the southern east to find a translucence in the 
sky, silver at first, soon flushing lightly into rose, 
or glowing softly into gold. Straightway expec- 
tancy becomes knowledge that the deepest shadow- 
mark upon the circle of the year is passed, that the 
longest nights are over. Despite the deference of 
the calendar to wintry names and tokens, the days 
henceforward will look sunward and lead by daily 
growing brightness from December darkness to the 
long light of midsummer. 

Again is wrought the miracle of resurrection, 
the old year has become the new. 



— 6i— 



The year that was, the year that is, 
The year that is to be, — 

A round of thought-recurrences 
Flows through the blending three; 

Till Time and Life part histories. 
Thus will it ever be. 



—62— 



t^m^l 1B98 



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